


Likeminded People

by starblessed



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Books, Friendship, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, but mostly about my love for both of them, kind of a charity character study??? lil bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 03:05:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13650123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starblessed/pseuds/starblessed
Summary: When Charity first meets W.D. Wheeler, he has his head buried in a book.Specifically,herbook, that was supposed to be in her handbag, but that’s not the thing that stands out to her first. What stands out is the look of utter fascination on his face -- as if he's discovered a window into another world.





	Likeminded People

**Author's Note:**

> This was born out of two things:  
> 1\. The desire for charity and w.d. to have friends they can complain about their respective ridiculous husband/sister to  
> and 2. That scene before Phillip meets Anne at the theatre, when W.D. was laying down and reading a book.
> 
> Literacy rates for lower class/poor people in the 1800s were not great, and for African Americans they were substantially worse. I thought that was an interesting aspect of W.D. (and presumably Anne as well)’s character, so I wanted to explore it!!

Charity always keeps a book in her handbag.

It’s a habit picked up from childhood, and never quite abandoned. When she was small, Charity would while away lonesome hours between her private tutor, etiquette lessons, and mealtimes in her father’s library. She used to curl up in an armchair amidst the sea of bookshelves and pull the latest volume into her lap. Losing herself in other people’s stories was the easiest thing in the world. The confining walls of reality melted away. Whole universes danced at Charity’s fingertips.

Her love affair with books began at home, but boarding school only intensified her passion. In the absence of friends, she clung to her novels. When her schoolmates all left her alone to play with each other, Charity pulled her books closer. When they jeered at her for being “in love with that tailor’s boy”, she buried her face in the pages and endured. She was not alone. There was no _reason_ to feel alone when her head was full of stories: romance, mystery, magic, all the things that seemed so out of reach. She relished the escape. At night, her mind swirled with a million stories. She lay awake for hours, dreaming of adventures she swore to one day have. (Often, they included a grubby faced boy with magic words and stars in his eyes.)

Charity grew, of course. Life got better. She’s been able to experience a story of her own. All the passion, excitement, and love that she dreamed of in her childhood has come true, with her in the main role. Life is good.

Still, books have always stayed by her side. Some little habits are impossible to break.

She usually keeps one tucked in her pocket or purse. It’s more convenient than carrying it under her arm, and she always has it there when needed. Just knowing there’s a book around is a comfort to her. If she needs an escape, from boredom or otherwise, it’s at her fingertips. Usually she’s only able to find a few spare moments in the day to read — but that’s all she really needs.

One day, she comes to visit Phineas at the circus. She leaves her purse sitting on the stairs backstage, not really thinking of it; the circus doesn’t have many performers yet, so few people are around, and no one would steal from her in her husband’s building.

When she comes back, her purse is where she left it, but there is a man sitting on the stairs with a book in his hands.

Charity stops and stares at him. It takes the man a few seconds to notice her. The moment he does, he jumps up like he’s been electrocuted.

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, placing the book down next to her purse as if it burned him. It takes Charity a second to realize it’s her book — the same bright cover and frayed edges. “Someone knocked your purse over, and things fell out. I put everything back, except…”

“It’s alright.” He looks shaken. She quickly steps forward to reassure him. “Thank you, goodness, it’s my fault for leaving it there to begin with, I should have known it would fall…” She scoops up her bag, but hesitates with the book in her hands. When she looks up, the man is staring at it. He averts his eyes the moment he realizes she’s looking at him, but Charity catches that familiar flash of longing in his face.

She knows that feeling. There’s nothing like a good book.

Charity looks him over. He’s a young man, lean with solid muscle, tall as a tower. His eyes are quick and clever. He’s handsome. He must have a certain air of self-confidence, she imagines, when he hasn’t been caught holding the contents of his boss’s wife’s purse. Most striking is the rich, dark color of his skin. She takes in the sight of this young black man, who seems almost afraid of her, and wonders: how hard was it for him to find a job before he came here?

(She doesn’t know him at all, of course. He could have a chronic case of sticky fingers. Maybe he sleeps on the job, or steals his coworkers paychecks, or gets into bar brawls during off hours. She knows nothing about this stranger, except that he was drawn to a book when he saw it.)

And his name. She might know that, too.

“I’m Charity Barnum,” she says, holding out her hand. The man’s eyes widen in surprise, but he hastily descends the last two steps to take it and shake it. “You’re W.D., aren’t you? One of the acrobat duo.”

He doesn’t look thrown off, to his credit. “That’s me, ma’am. Me and my sister. We do — some amazing stuff in the air.”

Charity’s never seen acrobats before — only read about them in books. The idea thrills her. “That’s _wonderful!”_

W.D. is gratified by the praise, and doesn’t contradict her. He’s got pride, this boy. (And, if her husband’s raving about the Wheeler siblings is right, the talent to go with it.)

When W.D. pulls his hand away, Charity pushes hers forward. The book rests in her palm.

“Do you enjoy reading?”

W.D.’s surprise shines on his face. Charity sees the bafflement in his eyes, mixed with poorly-disguised suspicion _(why,_ after all, should she be asking him about books?). When she continues smiling, however, he seems to decide it’s safe to answer.

“Don’t get much opportunity, Mrs. Barnum. When I find the time, yes. I enjoy reading a lot.” He shrugs, broad shoulders rolling with the motion. “It’s hard to get my hands on books, is all. There’s more important things to spend money on.”

Like clothes? Food? She doesn’t know what the Wheelers’ lives were like before coming to the circus, but she can guess by looking at W.D. that they were not easy. She feels a sudden burst of empathy for this young man. Not _sympathy,_ by any means — he doesn’t need her sympathy, or want it. She feels for a young man with a mind so inquisitive that he was drawn to pick up a book the second he saw one.

Even if he can’t afford books, the libraries wouldn’t welcome him. Someone who looks like W.D., Charity knows, would be turned away as soon as he set foot through the doors. Once again she is hit by empathy, fierce and overwhelming.

At the edge of her vision, she sees the ghost of a lonely little girl holed away in the isolation of her father’s library. Maybe W.D. is a kindred spirit; someone who needs a window to another world, just for a little while.

Before she can think better of it, she holds the book out to him. “I’ve read this one before,” she says. “And it's very good. If you’d like, you can borrow it.”

“I couldn’t do that, Mrs. Barnum.”

“Please,” Charity insists. “My husband has no time to discuss literature with me, and my girls are a bit too young! I’m always excited to meet someone else who loves to read.”

W.D. looks almost reverent as he takes the book from her hands. He holds it carefully, like it could crumble if he’s too rough with it. He thumbs through a few pages, and a smile lights up his face before he can stop it.

“Thank you, Mrs. Barnum,” he says. “I’ll have it back to you as soon as possible.”

“Take your time,” she replied, grinning. “A book is always best when you savor it! Besides — we’ll have plenty of opportunities to get to know each other better. My husband’s circus will be up and running soon.”

W.D. clutched the book to his chest like a precious thing. When he looks up at her, there’s a new warmth in his eyes. “That’s the truth,” he replies, and smiles at her. “It’s going to be some show.”

ƸӜƷ

The show is every bit as amazing as promised. Seeing Phineas’s dreams come true before her eyes is indescribable. More than once, Charity can’t believe it’s really _happening._ She can hardly believe she’s sitting in a building owned and named after her husband, watching humans fly through the air as impossible people dance around the ring. She can hardly believe her husband is in the center of it all, the sun at the center of a universe. Phineas is in his element. He thrills the crowds every moment he is in front of them, radiating all the light and energy that made Charity fall in love with him in the first place.

And she isn’t the only one. People flock to the show in droves. They are drawn in by the ads, the press coverage, the buzz. They all fall in love with P.T. Barnum and his show.

This is their life now, Charity marvels. It feels like something out of a story book.

(She thinks, with no small amount of pleasure, that the little girl she used to be would have loved reading about the woman she’s become.)

After two weeks of performances, W.D. hands her book back to her.

“It was wonderful, Mrs. Barnum,” he says. “Excellent.”

He is more confident now; it’s not just because he’s gotten used to seeing Charity around. All the performers are finding their place at the circus, feeling more at home. As the shows continue to grow, so too does the performers’ surety.

Perhaps the Wheeler siblings have found a place where they belong. They thought makes Charity smile.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” she says, tucking it in her purse. Then, just because she can never resist asking: “What was your favorite part?”

“Umm — uhh —“ W.D. scratches behind his ear, grinning nervously. “The part with Celine and the horses… on the beach, you know? When she was riding and felt like she was flying, like she could go anywhere… that’s kind of how I feel when I fly.”

It must be amazing up in the air. Charity’s imagination is too limited to really put herself in the shoes of an acrobat, a hundred feet above the ground. Even the thought is dizzying.

“That’s something I love about this book. A major theme is freedom. What it means to be you, not held back by anything or anyone.” Her mouth curves down. “I just wish it had a happier ending.”

“I didn’t like the ending much,” W.D. agrees. “It was kinda hard to follow… with Mr. Hensley, and the knife. He stabbed her, didn’t he?”

“No. He slashed at her, but she got away, only to fall from the cliffs.” W.D. looks surprised. Charity quirks an eyebrow at him, curious. He finished the book, didn’t he? When he notices her gaze, he huffs, not willing to let on that he’s embarrassed.

“Guess I missed that part. Some of it was hard to understand… the writing, I mean. It was pretty complicated.”

Not especially. The writing wasn’t simple, by any means, but Caroline would probably be able to understand it. Charity considers this for a moment, weighing what she knows: W.D.’s craving for books, his troubles with locating them, the careful way his eyes roamed over words on a page.

“Where did you learn to read, W.D.?”

Now he puffs up, pride replacing self-consciousness on his face. “Taught myself. Neither of our parents could read, but Mamma made sure we learned what we could. I used to get my hands on newspapers, and I’d help Anne figure all the words out. We can both read and write,” he declares. “Even if some books are… harder than others. We know how.”

Charity knows that for a working class person, this is no small feat. Phineas was fortunate: his father had him reading and transcribing orders from an early age, so he always knew his way around a pen. His father, however, could only read simple sentences; his mother didn’t know how to read at all. Anne imagines that among black Americans, even up North, where education was more accessible… their odds wouldn’t be as favorable.

W.D. and his sister can read, and they’re _proud_ of it. They’ve got every right to be.

“You know, this is just my opinion,” she says after a moment, “but the best way to become a better reader is to read _more._ As much as you can.”

“Like I said, it’s hard to get my hands on a lot of books.”

It must have been hard to find a trapeze to train on while growing up, but that clearly didn’t stop the Wheeler siblings. W.D., Charity already realizes, is not the sort of person who lets circumstances stand in his way.

She knows she’s going to sound ridiculous before the words even leave her mouth, and she’s prepared. “How would you feel about becoming Book Buddies?”

W.D. stares at her for a moment, dead silent, before his mouth twitches. “Book Bu— _what?”_

“We read books and talk about them — like friends.” Charity lets the offer hang in the air. She doesn’t have Phineas’s silver-tongue or charm, but for once in her life she prays for half of his persuasive talent. “What do you say?”

It takes only a few seconds for W.D. to break into a full, broad smile. “I say, I’d like that very much, Mrs. Barnum,” he replies.

“Please,” she says. “My friends get to call me Charity.”


End file.
